Chapter 38: The Devoured South American Fantasy Tree
The moment the Fantasy Trees descended, the entire world paused for half a beat.
Above East Asia, the phantom of that Fantasy Tree hung silently in the void.
It was so massive that no matter which corner of the city you stood in, you only had to look up to see it. It occupied half the sky, and the flowing radiance of its starlight was not blinding, yet it possessed an eerie attraction that made it impossible to look away.
"A tree...?"
"It's glowing..."
Whispers, exclamations, and questions erupted from every corner of the streets.
Panic began to spread.
People pulled out their phones, frantically taking pictures of the sky, their fingers trembling so much they couldn't focus the lenses.
Others opened social media only to find that the trending topics on every platform had been completely replaced.
#GiantTreeOverAsia, #SilverGiantTreeOverSouthAmerica, #EuropeanWorldTree.
The three entries surged to the top of the trending lists in various countries at staggering speeds, all followed by the "Explosive" tag.
Clicking in revealed photos and videos from all over the world.
In South America, a silvery-white tree flowing with data streams.
In Europe, a deep brown tree hung with miniature stars.
In East Asia, a tree that had burst into a starry vortex.
Three giant trees, three continents, appearing simultaneously.
"The end of the world..." someone muttered to themselves. "It must be the end of the world..."
"Aliens! It's definitely aliens!"
"Does this have anything to do with that President of the Earth from earlier? Is she the one behind this?"
Chaos radiated outward from the Fantasy Trees, spreading to the entire city, the entire country, and the entire planet.
The Clock Tower, London.
In the meeting room, the long table was lined with people on both sides.
Here were the Department of Astromancy, the Department of Invocation, the Department of Mineralogy, Policies...
Lords or representatives from almost every department were present.
The air was thick with the scent of tobacco, caffeine, and even heavier anxiety.
On the projection screens before them, real-time images of the three Fantasy Trees were being broadcast simultaneously.
The footage came from magecraft monitoring stations across various nations, intel sent back by familiars, and even close-up shots taken by a few daring magi who had approached the trees.
"So."
"Who can tell me exactly what these are?"
The meeting room fell into a dead silence.
Someone coughed, someone shifted their chair, and someone looked down pretending to read documents, but no one answered.
It wasn't that they didn't want to; they couldn't.
They didn't know.
The Clock Tower preserved the largest repository of occult knowledge in human history, from Sumerian clay tablets to modern manuscripts, from Eastern celestial arts to Nordic runes; there was almost no system they hadn't cataloged.
But these three trees before them were in no record.
Marisbury Animusphere sat on the left side of the long table, hands on his knees in an elegant posture.
Someone looked at him. "Do you have any thoughts?"
"Regrettably, I have no leads for the moment either," Marisbury said. "But judging by the composition of magical energy, something inside these three trees is transforming from imaginary to real. This process requires a massive amount of magical energy to support it. And the source of that magical energy appears to be this world itself."
A low murmur of discussion broke out in the room.
"You mean they are draining the magical energy of this world?"
"As it stands, yes."
"And what happens after they become real?" someone else asked.
Marisbury looked up. "Those three continents might turn into somewhere else entirely."
Just then, there was a knock on the meeting room door.
"Enter."
A young magus pushed the door open, his face pale, holding a freshly printed report.
His voice shook. "News from South America... just a minute ago, an abnormal magical energy reaction appeared above South America. That tree... is gone."
"Gone?"
"Yes, monitoring footage shows that it was... eaten by something."
Snowfield City, underground facility, Central Control Room.
Faldeus leaned forward, hands braced against the control console.
Every screen was playing footage of the Fantasy Trees—different angles, different distances, but the core content was identical.
Those three damned trees were hanging in the sky, declaring their existence to the world.
"Sir, the magical energy readings are still rising!"
"The spatial distortion rate around the East Asian tree has broken past the critical value!"
"A high-dimensional interference reaction has been detected from the North American tree!"
"The stellar projections of the European tree are materializing!"
The reports came one after another, each word like a hammer smashing against Faldeus's nerves.
His face was pale, cold sweat seeped from his temples, and his breathing was abnormally rapid. His fingers gripped the edge of the console so hard they turned white, his nails nearly digging into the synthetic material.
This was wrong.
This was wrong.
This was completely wrong.
This was not a part of his plan.
His plan was to control the Holy Grail War, to utilize the power of the Servants, and to achieve that ultimate goal—not to face three giant trees that had suddenly grown out of the sky!
Furthermore, the timing was too coincidental.
The moment the Fantasy Trees appeared was exactly the moment Assassin sent back the "Mission Complete" signal.
Lord El-Melloi II died, and then the trees popped up.
Faldeus was no fool. On the contrary, he was clever—clever enough to maneuver between various factions in this Holy Grail War while remaining steady in the commander's seat.
Therefore, he could piece together the rough outline.
Lord El-Melloi II's death had triggered some mechanism. This mechanism had led to the growth of the Fantasy Trees.
In other words.
It was his killing of El-Melloi II that caused the trees to grow.
"Cough...!"
Faldeus coughed violently, a sweet, metallic taste surging into his throat. He forced himself to swallow it, but his stomach began to spasm as if a hand were inside gripping it tight.
"Sir? Are you all right?"
A female staff member nearby noticed his abnormality and asked with concern.
Faldeus didn't answer.
He just stared at the screen, at the tree above East Asia, at that flowing starlight.
His vision began to rock, those lights blurring in his eyes into fuzzy spots.
In his mind, several images flashed back.
Standing before the bathroom mirror, giving the order to Assassin: "Help me kill someone."
Assassin's soul-fire leaping in the mirror: "Art thou certain?"
He closed his eyes: "Certain."
And then the trees grew.
"Haha..."
Faldeus began to laugh lowly.
Everyone in the Central Control Room froze. They stopped their work and turned to look at their supervisor who had suddenly burst into laughter.
"Sir? Sir, what's wrong?"
Faldeus's laughter came to an abrupt halt.
"I... I just wanted to win..."
He muttered to himself, every word heavy with weight.
"I just... wanted to save the situation..."
"Why... did it turn out like this..."
He looked down at his hands. They were shaking, shaking uncontrollably.
His vision began to turn black, with snow-like dots appearing at the edges. A sharp ringing erupted in his ears, drowning out the alarms and reports in the Central Control Room.
"Chie—"
Someone called out to him, but he couldn't hear clearly anymore.
Faldeus opened his mouth to say something, but no sound came out. He felt a surge of pressure stuck in his chest, unable to go up or down, piling up thicker and heavier.
Then, that pressure exploded.
"Pfft—!"
A mouthful of blood sprayed from Faldeus's mouth, splashing onto the control console screen before him. Dark red droplets of blood landed on the image of the Fantasy Tree, looking like he had added a few crimson stars to that tree of the starry sea.
His body swayed, and he fell forward.
"Sir!"
"Catch him, quick!"
"Medical team! Where's the medical team!"
The Central Control Room descended into chaos. Several people scrambled to catch Faldeus's falling body; someone checked his breath, someone felt for a pulse, and someone shouted into a communicator.
As for Faldeus, he could no longer feel anything at all.